


In Pursuit of the Cranes

by ryoken



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/F, Mikoto/Ikona (Implied), Mikoto/Reina (Briefly), Minor Original Character(s), Revelations - Canon Divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoken/pseuds/ryoken
Summary: "Hold on, hold on, I have to protest.Do you think I would choose to livewithout you?"it seemed so natural, sakura reflected, that she would end up here. she gazed at hana's hand intertwining with hers. the bleakness of the rest of world didn't seem to matter so much anymore.





	1. ikona's room

**Author's Note:**

> hoshido is so......... boring
> 
> but it doesn't have to be (this is ideally gonna be a multichapter fic abt sakura's life in a more... realistic light? i took a lot of liberties with canon and made up basically a whole character and backstory for ikona so like that's where we're starting from and working our way up to endgame sakuhana as adults postcanon. uh. yeah. see where this goes)
> 
> desc quote is from my main man euripides' orestes

“Lady Ikona…” Mikoto furrowed her brows as she looked down on the other woman, “I can’t do that to you.”

 

Trying to make her face form a smile, Ikona stared at Mikoto, and spoke once more, “You must marry him, Mikoto. Accept his offer. It wouldn’t do for knowledge of what ills me to spread across the palace… with Sakura having been born so shortly before it…”

 

Mikoto’s hand reaches out for a moment, and cups Ikona’s bandaged cheek.

 

“And in this state, I’m no better to everyone than if I was dead. You might as well tell them that I am as such,” Ikona sighs as Mikoto takes her hand away.

 

“That isn’t true,” Mikoto almost stuttered, tears forming in her eyes. “You don’t –”

 

“I do,” Ikona cut her off, “I do understand. More than anyone else. Listen, Mikoto, my soldiers already have respect for you as a skilled Priestess, as do my eldest children… Takumi and Sakura will come to understand in time. They need a mother that can raise them; you have always suited the role far more than me. You are not difficult to love.”

 

There was a despondent pause as each women looked into the others eyes. Mikoto sat, legs under her in proper fashion, looking anything but composed. She wiped the tears from her eyes before they could fall, but she was struggling. And there was Ikona. Lying down on her cot, not too long off from death, yet somehow regal as ever.

 

“I’ll find a way to heal you,” Mikoto insisted.

 

“You know how this ends, Mikoto. You always have.”

 

“But –”

 

“Consider it the last order from an unforgiving liege to their retainer, won’t you?” Ikona’s tone is meant to be joking, “He will be kind enough to you. I want you to live comfortably, with the ones you hold dear.”

 

“He tries so hard to be kind,” Mikoto sighs, “But I hold you dearly, Lady Ikona.”

 

“Yes, well,” Ikona smirks, “I’m a dead woman. Go after some fresher meat.”

 

At the very least, Mikoto can give her liege a smile. She struggles to find anything else to say, without repeating herself, and settles on, “What about Yuugiri?”

 

“She’ll be head of the kinshi knights in short time, no doubt,” Ikona moved as if she meant to shrug her shoulders, “I don’t worry about that one. You know you’re the one with a much shakier position in Hoshido.”

 

Mikoto’s head falls, “I know.”

 

“And you care for Sumeragi as well, don’t you?”

 

“…Yes, right as always, Lady Ikona.”

 

“Don’t let me hold you back.”

 

“You never have, Lady Ikona.”

 

Mikoto marries Sumeragi in the fall. It feels fitting, in a way. He doesn’t ask anything of her when he arranges Ikona’s public funeral, and only looks on with apologetic eyes when she excuses herself to tend to Ikona. The late queen rarely speaks these days, and their long conversations have turned into heavy silences.

 

Within a years time after their marriage Sumeragi is killed in an ambush. What’s more, the child Mikoto swore to protect as she ran far, far away from Valla is gone.

 

Mikoto is tasked with the funeral procession this time, and given a kingdom in return. A pitiful excuse for compensation.  

 

The Dowager Queen of Hoshido reigns alone.

 

* * *

  

It doesn’t seem right, Mikoto thinks, to bring the youngest with her to watch her mother wither away. …But Sakura has few other options to go during the day, without the worry of town gossip, or court whispering, so Mikoto asks the servants again and again to dress the child for a day of prayer. As per her routine, Mikoto makes her way around the west corridor and gathers supplies she hopes will find use today, scouring the medicine cabinets and store rooms until she is satisfied.

 

Long ago, Sumeragi had not understood, at first, why she wished for Ikona to be moved here. Here, with the ability to try, as much as possible, instead of the asylums for those with scaling skin to die. Why risk it? We can save many more people by making sure the illness doesn’t spread, by leaving her to die.

 

Why risk it?

 

How comfortable it must be, Mikoto didn’t tell him, to view people as risks that must be cut off from good society to save everyone else. What a lawful, considerate man.

 

“I don’t blame him,” Mikoto remembered what Ikona had said. “You shouldn’t waste your time trying to cure me. Your healing skills are at better use in the kingdom.”

 

“If I can save you,” She had replied, “Imagine how many people in the kingdom I could help with that cure?”

 

There had been a compromise. Mikoto was to take up Ikona’s duty in kingdom affairs through marrying Sumeragi, and Mikoto was allowed to continue her treatment on the woman. Thus Ikona could continue to influence and make decisions within Hoshido through Mikoto when they spoke to the other, even though publicly Ikona had already died. It also secured Mikoto her position in court. Sumeragi didn’t have to do anything, or answer anyone’s questions. A deal to benefit all.

 

Mikoto carries Sakura all the way to her mother’s room. Her body is not as frail as her clothes are trying to make her appear. Her hands clutch tightly onto Mikoto’s shoulders, and she keeps her head up the whole way to Ikona’s room. It’s good, Mikoto thinks. Strength means she still has not the same illness plaguing her mother.

 

“Why doesn’t nii-sama come with us,” Sakura asks Mikoto without looking at her, “When we go to see mama?”

 

Mikoto takes a deep breath before she answers. Sakura has asked variations of this question before, as children do, but never as direct as this. Never demanding a direct answer.

 

“Sakura-chan, you’re a very smart girl,” Mikoto tells her, but Sakura’s gaze doesn’t change, so she continues, “But your older siblings aren’t used to seeing your mother this way, like you are. It’s harder for them. If your mother had the ability to take herself to the throne again, you could see what I mean…” She trailed off, speaking more so to herself than to the child in her arms.

 

Sakura looked at Mikoto when she spoke this time, eyebrows furrowed, “But they do wanna see mama, don’t they?”

 

“Very, very smart girl…” Mikoto sighed, “They only want to see mama the way she was before. We have to respect their wishes. If I can find a cure for your mother… then they’ll definitely be able to see and talk to her again, Sakura-chan.”

 

“Okay,” Sakura concedes, “We have to cure her, then.”

 

 _We_ , Mikoto thinks humorously to herself. She shouldn’t laugh at this child. But her tone reflects Ikona’s so much, her hopeless assumption that she can provide any sort of aid beyond what Mikoto directs her to do. She won’t laugh at this child.

 

They walk into Ikona’s room together, and it’s a sorry sight. Mikoto places Sakura on the floor as gently as she can manage.

 

Today, Ikona is asleep when she gets there. Mikoto wants to let her rest, but Sakura’s heavy footsteps and Mikoto unpacking the medicinal supplies she had brought with her today do not allow for Ikona to stay asleep. Her eyes flicker open, and Ikona takes a deep breath in, as much as she can.

 

“Sakura, dear,” Ikona whispers lovingly, “Stop stomping around like a horse.”

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Sakura apologizes, taking her seat a couple feet beside Ikona’s cot, fumbling with her robes and failing to sit proper. Neither woman feels it necessary to correct her.

 

Her mother’s face is obviously disfigured by now. Aside from the bumpy scaling skin, most of her hair is gone, and the rest is cut shorter than is respectable for a woman. Mikoto has her hands and body completely bandaged, with a cloth around her neck to both cover and support her head. All she wears is a thin robe, tied loosely around her waist, and loose pants made out of the same material. Sakura knows, somewhere deep in her mind, this is not how her mother should look. Her mother was a ruthless Master of Arms, as Sakura was told. She led the resistance of the Nohrian occupation, reclaimed territory, and came home to lead future strategic meetings and get married. An accomplished woman, Hoshido’s strongest warrior, the Queen and wife of King Sumeragi. Yukimura never skipped the opportunity to mention it when Sakura asked.

 

She didn’t quite understand what all of her mother’s accomplishments meant, but it didn’t matter now, didn’t it? Her mother is the woman laying before her. The one tossed away by the King, the one the Queen treats with gentle care almost every day of the week. The woman barely clinging to life, bandaged to the bone, pitiful in anyone else’s eyes. That was Sakura’s mother.

 

Sakura didn’t have to understand it. She moved herself closer to her mama while Mikoto crushed various plants together with a pestle and mortar. Placing her hand over her mother’s bandaged one, she tried to find things to say.

 

“Suzuran-sensei says I’m really good with my numbers,” Sakura starts, “Uhm, better than, better than Takumi nii-sama, even.”

 

“Mmm,” Ikona responds. She’s trying to be encouraging, even with limited breath.

 

“Don’t tell Takumi-kun that, Sakura-chan,” Mikoto smiles as she speaks to the child.

 

“I-I won’t…” Sakura tries not to sound timid at the mention of her brother.

 

“He’s gotten quite competitive these days,” Mikoto’s words at directed at Ikona this time, who coughs a laugh, “Wonder where he got that from, hmm?”

 

“I hope you don’t mean to imply me,” Ikona says, “I never had competition.” Mikoto rolls her eyes, but her face is still fond.

 

The conversation, after that, is overtaken by Sakura’s enthusiastic stories about her lessons with Suzuran-sensei. She doesn’t have much else in her life to talk about, Mikoto thinks. And it’s at least partially her fault. But what else is she to do? There are many factors she must worry about when it comes to Sakura, lest she become victim to stigma within her own home. There is no time for thoughts like those, though, she must continue working on putting together today’s treatment.

 

Time passes far too fast in Ikona’s room, Mikoto muses, as morning turns to afternoon. Mikoto has prepared a grand total of four topical ointments and a simple medicinal milk, boiled and mixed with herbs she had acquired from Nohr long, long ago.

 

“Sakura-chan,” Mikoto says quietly moving to the other side of Ikona’s cot, “Could you help me lift your mother in a sitting position? Ah – yes, thank you. Be gentle, keep your hands over the bandages. Good. Thank you.”

 

Sakura smiles timidly at her mother, but her face is worried. Ikona breathes harder, though it still sounds weak, adjusting her body to sitting up. Mikoto knows that Sakura doesn’t quite understand how far gone her mother is, but she doesn’t want to give it away to the poor child. Mikoto rubs Ikona’s back through her robe, murmuring in her ear yet not quite touching as Ikona begins to breathe normally (as normal as she can manage) again.

 

“Alright,” Ikona sighed, and Mikoto gave her a small smile. With gentle hands, Mikoto removed Ikona’s robe while Sakura sat and watched them. Precisely and surely, exercising movements she had done hundreds of times, Mikoto undid Ikona’s bandaging, and with ease replaced the cloth supporting her neck. Sakura was transfixed (though fidgeting, as children so) as she watched, waiting for Mikoto to request she do something.

 

“Would you like to help me apply these, Sakura-chan?” Mikoto asked, giving Sakura her cue to move again. Sakura nodded (it felt too quiet to talk now) and walked over to Mikoto to take the mortar and brush offered to her.

 

Though not perfect, Sakura takes the brush and begins to apply the strange paste Mikoto had made to her mother’s back as evenly as she can. Mikoto takes another mortar, and with bare hands, begins to massage the much thinner paste into Ikona’s scalp.

 

Only pausing to rebandage the areas Sakura had finished with, Mikoto worked diligently to carefully use what she hoped would be a breakthrough in treatment. Or at the very least, would make Ikona’s life less painful. Many of the mixtures were made with herbs known for pain numbing, mixed with different parts of a chaulmoogra plant, which Mikoto had heard helped other sufferers immensely. When Sakura used up all the paste she had, Mikoto moved on quickly to massassing a cream she hoped would lessen the pain of moving over Ikona’s joints and hips.

 

“I’m so pampered,” Ikona croaks out, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“Oh hush,” Mikoto scolds her, “You’re much less pampered than those palace ra– those palace advisers.” She remembered Sakura was still in the room at the last moment.

 

Ikona raises her eyebrows at Mikoto, looking amused.

 

Mikoto sighed, “Okay, and now I just need you to eat these,” She held out the last mortar for Ikona to see, “And drink this.” She gestured to the steaming cup of milk tea which sat beside Ikona’s cot.

 

“I see,” Ikona sounded tired, tired than ever, and looked up at her daughter, “Sakura-chan, you should go to your lessons now. Queen Mikoto and I will be done here soon.”

 

Sakura shuffled her feet, clearly not happy about leaving her mama so soon (it had been hours). Eventually she accepted it was time to go, bowing (and almost falling over from the weight of her clothes) and turning to walk out the door.

 

“Mama,” Sakura stalled at the door for a moment, “See you tomorrow.” And ran off before she could get a reply.

 

* * *

 

“I need you to understand this, Lady Sakura, because right now I don’t think you do.”

 

“Y… yes.”

 

“You cannot fix everything with your staff. It may be called it healing magic, but we both know that’s not what it really is. We can restore tissue, reattach blood vessels and bones, and mend mangled bodies with it. But it does not heal. It only repairs. If you do not follow the basics of medical procedure, your staff will not be able to help you, and people will die. Your effort will be for naught.”

 

“Thank you, Suzuran-sensei. But I do understand.”

 

The older women rolled her eyes, and stared down at the child refusing to make eye contact with her.

 

“Yes, well,” She replied, “We all best hope you do. You are very proficient in _using_ healing magic, if nothing else. My lady.” Suzuran-sensei always adds on the last words like a customary afterthought, like she doesn’t really believe it. Sakura doesn’t know enough to let it bother her, but Suzuran’s tone makes her feel almost embarrassed nonetheless.

 

* * *

  

No one likes to think about the months leading up to Ikona’s death, her true death. Sakura and Mikoto watched over her last few days, but the one to discover she had well and truly died was Sakura, alone. Sakura, delivering a simple blanket she had sewn with Suzuran-sensei to give to her mother.

 

And to the rest of the royal family, she had already been dead long before her body finally gave out.

 

Ikona began to show symptoms of leprosy a year after Sakura’s birth. Of course, she had never known her mother without it. When it was discovered what was happening to her, Ikona was placed in the unused west corridor rooms, and was given a small rotation of servants who knew the extent of her condition. Outside the palace, the cause of the Queen’s sudden illness was kept a secret. They announced her death soon after.

 

No one wanted to try to explain how the Queen had contracted a criminal’s disease.

 

…Or admit that they feared Sakura could have been born with the same.

 

They put Sakura in a room far enough from Ikona so that she may not contract the disease if she didn’t already have it, but closed off enough from everyone else in case she did.

 

Only Mikoto, and the tutor assigned to the child by her, spoke to Sakura outside of obligation. The new Queen pitied the girl, the court whispered, and was clearly trying to replace the poor girl’s mother. The new Queen was clearly trying to replace her own child with the child who was meant to be kidnapped instead. What an ugly thing to do, they said. How would she ever know her mother like this? Mikoto knew she couldn’t correct them, without having to give up Ikona’s truth as well. She could only try to keep Sakura far away from it, to let Sakura stay ignorant of them. For a long time, it had been enough.

 

It became far more difficult to keep Sakura away from the rest of the kingdom after her mother died. Mikoto told Suzuran to start training Sakura as a formal shrine maiden to take up more time in her days, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Eventually, Sakura would begin to hear things. Mikoto could only hope they wouldn’t cause the young girl to resent her.


	2. retain and remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been so long. i had bad editing disease so i spent like multiple weeks editing this chapter and i'm pretty sure there are still mistakes but that;s just how it is! sometimes!

Sakura’s room is in the farthest area of the west corridor of the Shirasagi palace. It is not the room she was raised in. But it’s close to it. In truth, it doesn’t actually matter which room in this wing she stays. It is mostly home to medical storehouses in case of siege, and the habitable rooms were almost all empty. 

 

No one goes here unless they must. All the rooms might as well all be the same place.

 

With the expansion of the castle to have additional floors, it was asked to move the youngest princess into a more convenient room, somewhere outside the area of construction. Sakura was moved further away from anyone else. This room is the one her mother stayed in, a short while ago, until her death finally claimed her. When she sleeps, she faces away from it. 

 

According to every text and rumor and law Sakura has heard about it, leprosy is highly contagious. The area where Ikona laid is suspected to still carry the disease. Her blanket is still in the same position it was when the royal undertaker came and removed her body from her bed.

 

But Sakura had visited her mother many times a week while she languished, held her bandaged hand, spoke to her about her daily life, and had yet to show any symptoms herself. The late Queen could’ve killed the average man with the touch of her hand, poisoned and ruined him and spread her terrible disease. More lethal than she ever was on the battlefield. Yet Sakura remained the same, no matter how many times her mother cupped her cheek and told her to grow strong. 

 

Maybe she is simply immune to such things, if it were possible. 

 

Though even with her assumed immunity, she does not enjoy being in this room. It’s not a terrifying place to be during the day, but at night, it’s cold. Sakura is alone. And her mother died in this room. 

 

It’s cold at night, down to the bone, and Sakura is alone with her thoughts. She always, always thinks of her mother. Whether they would talk, if her mother was still here to share this room with her. If her mother would still be able to talk at all. Things like that.

 

There are other things she thinks about, too. Like say, how it wouldn’t be so hard for someone to enter through a window, wouldn’t it, and grab her. Especially not for a trained assassin, or… or… a dragon rider, and whatever else they have in Nohr. Do they have ninjas in Nohr as well? It doesn’t matter. No one would hear her either way. She’s too far away from everyone else, distanced and stored away until the day she becomes a pawn to further relations between neighbouring nations. They wanted to grab her once, people say, but there’s no point now. 

 

Who cares? Unless they want revenge for Azura too. But it’s unlikely, after so many years, surely they’ve forgotten about Azura by now, like they’ve forgotten about her. It’s unlikely, but it plagues Sakura’s mind at night. She has not forgotten about Azura.

 

It takes a long time to stop staring at the door a few feet in front of her, every night. Sakura never looks back. She refuses to. She has no desire to spend her nights staring down her mother’s deathbed. Instead, Sakura stares at the entrance and waits for her eyes to fall.

 

* * *

 

“Yuugiri… don’t you think your talents would be better suited to the frontlines?” Mikoto says, almost pleading, “Trust me, you don’t have to be here protecting me. Nohr cares little of me. They’re more concerned about Ryoma. Surely it’d make more sense for you to look into becoming his retainer?

 

“I don’t believe so, no,” Yuugiri answers simply, “I want to be your retainer, Lady Mikoto.”

 

“Really… you could become the head of the kinshi knights in no time, with your talent for,” Mikoto considers her next choice of words, “Battle.”

 

“Killing?” 

 

“It’s all the same.”

 

“It is, isn’t it?” Yuugiri smirks, “But I can use my talents just as well protecting you.”

 

“You won’t get to use them as much,” Mikoto says.

 

“A sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Yuugiri tells her.

 

“Are you sure?” Mikoto asks her next, running out of ways to turn Yuugiri away. She had not expected to ever have this conversation. She’s never expected anyone to actually want to protect her. Though if it had to be anyone, Mikoto is somehow not surprised it’s Yuugiri.

 

“Very much so.”

 

“...Alright,” Mikoto concedes, “You know, the royal house usually chooses their retainers, not the other way around. Are you prepared for it?” 

 

“Mikoto.” Yuugiri stops her, “I’ve been the Queen’s retainer before, remember? You were there.” Mikoto purses her lips.

 

“I remember very well,” Mikoto sighs, “But being my retainer is a lot different than being Lady Ikona’s, I’m not – I’m not her, I can’t be –“

 

“A Master of Arms?” Yuugiri asks her. 

 

“Yes.” Mikoto says, her voice almost cracking as she stresses her response.

 

“No one expects you to be,” Yuugiri says. 

 

“I know,” Mikoto sighs, “They’re hoping a peaceful queen can actually bring about an era of peace. But I doubt the people are quite as hopeful now, after Sumeragi’s negotiations. But they still need me to, otherwise…”

 

“This war continues on for another decade or so, yes.”

 

“Do you think I can end it, Yuugiri? Without yielding to Nohr’s rule?” Mikoto asks, looking for an honest answer. 

 

“When, in the next year? The next two years?” Yuugiri says, “Ikona couldn’t. Sumeragi couldn’t. I don’t know if you can either.”

 

Mikoto looks down, and speaks softly, something that Yuugiri doesn’t quite catch even with their distance so few inches away. It sounds like an agreement, though. 

 

“But you will,” Yuugiri tells her, “Eventually. I trust you. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

 

Sumeragi had said the same to her, once, when she had been slouched over, exhausted. Carrying a variety of odd medicines. Going down to Ikona’s room.

 

Mikoto smiles, a small one, and says, “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

In a courtyard, a young prince is trying to steady his shaking arms as he aims an arrow on a bow much too big for his small body, to hit a target modified for a child’s practice in an area where palace soldiers should be training. Being such an important little 10-year-old, of course, he could get the courtyard cleared out on a whim, having it all to himself and his very important practicing sessions. Sitting a few feet away (and behind the aforementioned prince, for safety’s sake) in the grass is Sakura, watching. She’s holding a small stuffed wolf doll in her arms as she waits for Takumi to show her what he dragged her outside for.

 

“Takumi nii-sama,” Sakura calls for his attention, stressing the  _ nii _ , “When are you gonna shoot the arrow?”

 

“Shut up!” Takumi snaps, lowering the bow, “I’m trying to concentrate! This is hard, okay?!” His face is red, and flustered, and his shoulders ache. He huffs, and draws the string up again. Not to be rushed again, he closes one eye (as if he knew how exactly that’d help him aim better) and hopes for the best. His fingers let go of it’s hold on the arrow.

 

There’s the sound of the arrow cutting through the air and landing with the unmistakable  _ thunk _ of it piercing the wooden target, and Takumi looks up in excitement, looking frantically for the arrow that actually hit, only to find it in the wood board’s corner, just outside the target’s area.

 

Sakura mouths a silent ‘ _ wooow’  _ and starts clapping. Takumi spins around to look at her. If it were possible, his face was redder than before. 

 

“D-don’t do that!” Takumi yells at her, and she flinches, giving him a confused look.

 

“But you hit it!” Sakura insists, using her hands still in clapping position to gesture to the target standing some feet away. Takumi rolls his eyes, becoming annoyed.

 

“I hit the  _ block _ , Sakura, I was trying to hit the  _ target. _ ”

 

Sakura doesn’t look like she quite cares for the difference, so Takumi gives up.

 

“You’re getting lots better,” Sakura tells him, trying to stay light hearted, “I’m getting really good with light magic, too,” She says, hoping to get him interested in knowing what she’s learned recently.

 

“Oh, light magic, I bet that’s hard,” Takumi says, mocking. Sakura can feel something in her stomach drop a bit. She looks down with a frown, twirling the arms of her wolf doll.

 

“I-I can… I can make skin stitch itself together now, so,” Sakura goes on to explain, “So, so yeah.”

 

Takumi makes a face, “That’s kinda gross, ya know.”

 

“Mmm… a bit,” Sakura says, still hiding her face. There’s a moment where neither look towards each other, staying at a distance, in silence. Sakura doesn’t like these moments. 

 

She stands up, placing her doll on the ground. Takumi looks over when he sees her move, tilting his head at her.

 

“Can I try?” Sakura asks him, gesturing to his bow.

 

“What? No!” Takumi holds the bow defensively against his chest. The size of the bow against Takumi’s small frame looks a bit silly, but Sakura doesn’t comment on it.

 

“I just wanna see…” Sakura hesitates with her words, being careful, “...how difficult it is?”

 

“Oh, well,” Takumi says, “I guess I can show you.”

 

Takumi goes through the motions of showing her how to hold the bow and draw the arrow. He’s not the best at teaching; many of the steps seem to be intuitive knowledge to him that Sakura falls short of getting the feeling of. Takumi is still reluctant to hand over his bow, too, but seems to concede to wanting to see Sakura see how difficult archery is once she fails at it. 

 

Sakura tries her best to copy what Takumi did, but if the bow was too big for him, it almost completely dwarfs Sakura. It’s heavier than it looks, for sure, though it feels a bit lighter than how heavy it looked to be in Takumi’s hands. It’s no heavier than a real staff, Sakura thinks. Though her tutor never lets her practice with the actual staves for long. If she didn’t struggle to get her arms around the large size of it, she could hold this fairly easily, she thinks.

 

Taking aim, Sakura lifts the bow with arrow drawn, and gives herself a second to focus as hard as her 7-year-old brain will allow. When she lets it go, her breath catches for a moment as she looks to see where it landed.

 

It’s a foot in front of the target that had been set up, ledged into the ground.

 

“See?” Takumi says, smug, and Sakura feels… disappointed? Her chest falls, and she hands the bow off back to her brother.

 

“Yeah,” Sakura agrees. 

 

She doesn’t know what exactly she expected – she only wanted to try it, and she shouldn’t expect to be good at it on her first try. But part of her, a little, had hoped she would somehow have a talent for archery and get closer than Takumi did on her first try. Something impressive, though Takumi would’ve called it beginner’s luck and gotten mad at her anyway. There’s no reason to have hoped for such an unfavorable outcome. 

 

“Don’t feel bad, Sakura,” A new voice calls out to her, making Sakura and Takumi turn their heads, “Takumi did the same thing on his first try.” Ryoma is leaning on the side of the door they’re by, apparently having been watching them for a while.

 

“Nii-sama?” Sakura says at the same time Takumi indignantly demands, “Since when were you here!?”

 

“I came down here to tell Takumi that the younger soldiers are going to be training in the main courtyard soon,” Ryoma says, “Since he’ll be expected to pick out retainers soon, he should see what the options are.”

 

“I already  _ know _ who my retainers are gonna be,” Takumi tells his brother, indignantly, “You didn’t need to come all the way over here to tell me  _ that _ .”

 

“I know, but I wanted to tell you myself and save Saizo the trip. You should be sure to have a couple backups in mind,” Ryoma says, like a good older brother. Sakura stares at them. She doesn’t get to see the soldiers training often, as she cannot leave castle grounds alone yet. 

 

“Alright,” Takumi says.

 

“Uhm,” Sakura tries to wedge herself in before the conversation ends, “...Could I come and watch too?”

 

“Ah! Sakura,” Ryoma says, turning to look at her once again, “You don’t need to.”

 

Sakura’s mouth dries up, rejection making her face burn. If Ryoma notices, it doesn’t seem to deter him at all.

 

“You’d rather go back inside with Suzuran-sensei, right? Don’t worry about following Takumi around. Unless, uh, you wanted to go?” Ryoma says, kindly. Sakura feels embarrassed.

 

Sakura hesitates, “...No… you’re right. I-I have… a lot of studying to do today.”

 

“Oh, good,” Ryoma says, looking relieved, “Show me show of your light magic sometime, okay?”

 

“...Okay, nii-sama,” Sakura says. She watches her brothers leave with something tying up in her stomach, but ignores it. She still has time before she has to pick out her retainers, so… she doesn’t need to waste her time watching them when she’s still a subpar healer. 

 

...Maybe studying alone would be best for today.


End file.
